


day off

by getoffthestagedarren



Category: Holby City
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Flashbacks, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Sick Character, Sickfic, basically theyre both gay disasters sorry about it, holby city - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-04 04:10:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16339544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getoffthestagedarren/pseuds/getoffthestagedarren
Summary: There are three things that Dominic Copeland never does. Wear crocs, listen to Coldplay, get ill. Dom’s ethos is very much that he cures sick people, but the day he becomes one is a day he hopes never to see. So why is it that he’s woken up feeling like death personified?





	day off

**Author's Note:**

  * For [for sophia - to read when they're down](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=for+sophia+-+to+read+when+they%27re+down).



> this is my first sick fic and it's only short but hope y'all like this - it's basically my answer to tash's (whythefujamievenonthis - ao3, allidoiscryandwatchholby - tumblr) lofty sick fic :)

There are three things that Dominic Copeland never does. Wearing crocs is at the top of the list, closely followed by listening to anything by Coldplay (despite Lofty’s best efforts) and finally, getting ill. Dom’s ethos is very much that he cures sick people, but the day he becomes one is a day he hopes never to see. Even during the trauma of his hepatitis c scare, his immune system had remained relatively robust. So why is it that he’s woken up feeling like death personified? 

“I feel like death personified.” His voice is croaky and comes out as barely a whisper. Lofty remains sound asleep beside him. 

“Oi, Chiltern.” Still nothing.

“Loooooftyyyyy.” Dom swears he sees Lofty’s nose twitch ever so slightly, but he still remains asleep.

Dom resorts to elbowing his fiancé in the ribs and punctuates it with a scratchy “Oi, Chiltern!”

“Dom, it’s not even 7 on a Sunday. What do you want?” Lofty scrunches his eyes and stretches before rolling over and shoving his head in his pillow. 

“I think I may be dying.”

“Really? Can it not wait until a more reasonable hour?” 

“Listen to my voice!” 

“Don’t be such a drama queen love, I’m sure you’re not that ba-“

Lofty rolls over to be greeted by what he can only assume is Frankenstein’s monster, but sweaty and wearing a Golden Girls tank top. 

“Jesus Dom you look like a zombie!” This sends Dom into a coughing fit.

“Cheers- Lofty- say it- how it- really is-” 

Lofty reaches over to put his hand on Dom’s forehead and finds him burning up. Lofty gets up out of bed and grabs his denim shirt off the chair in the corner of the room.

“What are you doing?”

“Calling work, we’re not going in today.” He mutters as he pulls on his jeans. 

Dom rolls onto his back and covers his face with his arms. 

“Why would you take the day off?”

“Got to stay here and look after you, haven’t I?” 

“Lofty, you don’t need to-”

“I want to, okay? Now I’m going to go and get you some medicine and some breakfast. Stay here, I’ll be back in 20 minutes.”

In any other circumstance Dom would have protested, but on this occasion he feels too weak and tired to say no, so he lets Lofty kiss him on the forehead and walk out of their bedroom. He can faintly hear the front door slamming, and he turns over to try and find the cool side of the bed, but the moment he shuts his eyes it feels like the room begins to spin and Dom can see spots behind his eyelids. He feels like he’s drowning in his duvet, and yet he knows if he throws it off he won’t be able to stop shivering. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t get comfortable and he really cannot decide whether he’s hot or cold. After a while, he stops resisting the spinning of the room and simply lies there, hoping sleep will pull him under. 

Thud.

Thud.

Thud. 

Shit. Dom promised him that he’d be up and dressed as soon as he got back so that they could go out. He knows Dom isn’t feeling 100% but he promised that “a bit of fresh air would make him feel better”. Dom remembers what happened last time he wasn’t ready on time when Isaac had plans – he has the shadow of a black eye and the occasional ghostly pain of broken ribs to prove it. He feels the familiar, shaky panic that had previously been pooling in the pit of his stomach rise as the footsteps from outside grow louder and louder until it feels like someone is playing them through a loudspeaker next to his head. He needs to get out of bed. He needs to get out of bed, or he’ll be for it. Why can’t he move? Why is the room so hot? His breathing quickens as the panic turns to icy terror coursing through his veins, his pulse buzzing in his fingertips and his body beginning to shake. His breathing continues to quicken. He’s going to get hurt, Isaac is going to hurt him again, why does Isaac always want to hurt him? He hears the key in the lock, shit, he’s going to be angry at him again, why can’t he get out of bed? He hears him struggling to open the door – the keys hitting the floor and an irritated sigh are audible before he tries again. That means he’s angry – another red flag. Dom’s breathing has become quick and shaky as he feels the terror fully setting in and the panic fuelled tears that make him feel horribly weak begin to well up. 

He’s going to hurt me.  
He’s going to hurt me.  
He’s going to hurt me.

The phrase is playing on a loop in Dom’s head. Why does he always want to hurt me? The front door finally opens, and he hears footsteps coming towards the bedroom. He turns over and locates a scratch in the wallpaper to stare at – anything to avoid having to look at him, having to accept his already sealed fate. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me, I’m sorry” The whisper is hardly audible through the tears, and Dom’s shaky anxious breathing. 

“What?”

“Please don’t hate me – I wanted to get up but I can’t move, I can’t move but I wanted to move and it’s too hot and too cold and the room was spinning and please don’t hurt me-”

“Why would I hurt you?”

“B-Because I’m not ready.”

“Ready for what, Dom?”

Dom feels the mattress dip next to him.

“We-we were going to go out and I’m not ready a-and I know that makes you angry but p-please don’t hurt me, I’m not s-strong enough Isaac, not this time.” 

“Dom – what?”

“Hurt me- later Isaac, but- please not now, I’m- not strong enough now…” Dom manages to stutter through the sobs that ripple through his body. 

He feels a hand on his shoulder and flinches reflexively.

“Dom…. It’s me.”

“I know it’s- you Isaac, you hate me, you hate me, and we need- to go out now so you don’t hate me anymore.” 

Dom sits up, shaking with tears and fatigue as he tries to get out of bed, still not turning round. He soon has to sit back down as the room has begun spinning again. 

“Dom, it’s me. It’s Lofty. Isaac’s long-gone baby, nobody’s going to hurt you. He’s not here.” 

Of course it’s Lofty. Why wouldn’t it have been? Dom can’t stop himself from sobbing now. Not only did he think Lofty- his fiancé Lofty, who could never hurt a fly let alone him- was Isaac, Isaac who beat him and threw him down the stairs. Now he’d let Lofty feel like he thought he was going to hurt him. Dom shuffles back on the bed slowly until he is sat next to Lofty and leans his head on his shoulder. 

“I’m so sorry-”

“Hey, it’s okay Dom. It’s okay, I understand. It’s okay.” Lofty puts his arms around Dom, slowly and gently, as Dom leans on his chest. 

“Shhh…It’s okay love. I understand. It’s okay”

Lofty’s voice is comforting, and Dom can almost instantly feel himself calming down. His breathing slowly regulates itself again. He shuts his eyes, still leaning on his fiancé’s chest, and just breathes in his scent. Lemons. Why does he always smell like lemons? Dom can’t find it in himself to care at this moment. He can hear Lofty’s heartbeat. He breathes in time to it. 

The moment is interrupted as Dom erupts into a coughing fit that reminds both of them of why they’re there.

“Well that was nice while it lasted, but it’s time for some cough medicine.” Lofty announces, and Dom groans. 

“Must I?” 

“Do you want to look like an extra from American Horror Story forever?” 

“Am I-Am I really that bad?” 

“Mate, you look like you’ve already died.”

“And they- say romance is- dead. I’m so glad I’m marrying someone who- appreciates- my good- looks!” Every other word is punctuated by a cough. Maybe Dom should take the cough medicine.  
His thoughts are interrupted Lofty getting a suspicious looking bottle out of the orange plastic bag he’s brought in with him. 

“You’re having this, no questions asked.” Lofty muttered, before retrieving a medicine spoon out of the bag. Where did he find that? Is there a shop where you buy those spoons? Dom makes a mental note to google that later. 

“You can’t just make me take it, Benjamin.” 

“Oh, don’t Benjamin me – you’re taking this if it’s the last thing I do.”

Dom hesitates, and decides to try a different tactic. He raises an eyebrow and smirks.

“Would you not rather do something else?”

Lofty doesn’t even look up. How did that not work? This flu must have affected Dom’s effortless charm. 

“That’s not going to work on me, Dom. Not when you can’t say ‘firm’ without it sounding like ‘firb’. Also, you’re sweaty as hell right now and I can’t trust that you aren’t spontaneously going to pass out, so that’s going to have to wait.” 

Damn it. He’s good. Dom may actually have to take this medicine. 

“If I take this medicine…. What’s in it for me?” 

“We can get takeaway tonight? And there’s pop tarts in the cupboard.”

Dom realises then that he never told Lofty that pop tarts aren’t his favourite. He’d just seemed so excited when he suggested them all those months ago for breakfast after one of the first times he’d stayed at Doms, Dom couldn’t find it in himself to do anything but say yes and match his excitement. Lofty’s childlike excitement at the smallest things was one of the features that Dom absolutely adored about his fiancé, and he wasn’t about to scorch that optimism over an American breakfast snack. 

“Okay, I’m nearly convinced.”

“And I’m sure we can think of other incentives for when you’re better-”

Dom had taken the cough medicine before Lofty had even finished his sentence. 

*** 

 

Dom has been lying on the sofa watching Jeremy Kyle for the past four hours. Lofty has been in and out with glasses of water, various blister packs of painkillers and more toast than Dom remembers buying the bread for. Being ill isn’t all that bad, he supposes. 

He’s about to get up to make himself some lunch, when Lofty comes in with a tray. He’s wearing a frilly apron. When did they ever buy a frilly apron? Dom struggles sometimes to believe that Lofty is an actual, real life person who exists. Largely, though, he stopped questioning it after the Mexican night fiasco. Dom really does love him. 

“What’s that?” 

“Chicken noodle soup. For your throat.”

“Ah yes, the noodle – commonly known for its healing properties.” 

“Do you want lunch or not?” 

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding – thanks, love” Dom takes the tray. There is a flower in a champagne flute. Where do they make people like him? 

“How are you feeling?” Lofty sits down next to him. 

“Definitely better than I was. Hey- I’m sorry about this morning, I really don’t know what was wrong with- “

“Hey, it’s fine Dom! I get it. It’s absolutely fine.” Lofty reaches over and curls his pinkie finger round Dom’s. A small gesture, but one that lets him know that he’s safe and loved. Dom’s breath hitches in his throat and he leans over to peck his fiancé on the lips before resting his head on his shoulder. 

“Want to watch something?”

Lofty put his arm round Dom’s shoulder and pulled him closer. 

“Like what?” He knew better than to make any suggestions – trying to convince Dom to watch Little House on the Prairie while he was well was hard enough; this would be like herding cats. 

“Think we have a few more episodes of Lucifer to watch?”

 

***

Waking up the next morning, Dom feels almost entirely better. His fever has gone, and he feels so much fresher than he had done the previous morning, save for a slight tickle at the back of his throat. He only faintly remembers coming to bed - Lofty gently shaking him as the credits rolled on the final episode of Lucifer (Dom is definitely going to have to go back and re watch those last few episodes). He turns over to see Lofty lying there asleep, except – does he look slightly pale? As Dom reaches to grab his phone from the bedside table, he sees Lofty’s eyes scrunch up as he slowly comes around. He opens his eyes, and then sneezes – six times in a row. Dom hears him groan and it dawns on both of them that the tables have, in fact, turned. 

“Dom, I’m going to kill you.”


End file.
